


collagen

by phalangine



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dreams, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: Frank is dreaming. He knows he's dreaming because he's back in the dark, the world around him empty and quiet in a way the real world never is.





	collagen

**Author's Note:**

> hi i have like a hundred kastle wips, but i guess this little thing is going to be the first one i actually publish

Frank is dreaming. He knows he's dreaming because he's back in the dark, the world around him empty and quiet in a way the real world never is.

He's lying on his back on a bed. It's soft, the mattress molding around him. The sheets are soft, too, and clean. They smell nice, and it only takes Frank a few seconds to place the scent. It isn't just clean laundry. It's Karen’s clean laundry.

And just like that, Karen herself materializes on top of him. She's down to her underwear, her long hair hanging loose. Frank’s never actually seen her like this. He doesn't know what color underwear she wears or the type of bra she favors. He doesn't know that her skin is as smooth and perfect as his is not.

But he already knows he’s dreaming, and he’s stripped down to his boxers.

This is not the first time he’s had this dream. He’s had some version of it at least once a week since he told Karen about Pete Castiglione.

He's made his peace with it; he doesn’t fight the urge to close his eyes in this place and just let himself feel as Karen touches him.

She touches him gently, starting with the curve of his lowest rib. It's disconcerting, but she never gets rough with him. Her fingers never close around his throat. Her nails never bite into his skin. He only ever feels the soft pads of her fingers as she runs them over his skin.

Her fingers leave a trail of warmth behind them. Every place they touch lights up like the glow of the old fashioned lantern his old man used to pull out when the power went out and Frank’s mother wanted to read.

The part of Frank that's learned to be vigilant wants to watch Karen’s fingers. It never rests, never stops filling his head with alarm.

Frank ignores it. If Karen wants to do him harm, then she’ll do him harm. Simple as that.

He cracks his eyes open and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

The soft smile lifting the corners of her lips hurts more than a fist to the jaw. He can't work her out. Why is she so soft with him? Why does she always let him come too close?

Why does she fit with him so well?

It scares him sometimes. He figured, when he woke up from that coma and put together what happened, that all he had left in him was one last mission. Spill all the blood he can before somebody takes him out.

How was he supposed to plan for Karen Page?

Guilt tries to worm its way in, screaming about his dead family, but Karen’s family, too. She’s just a different sort than he’s had before.

She isn't supplanting Maria. She isn't competing with Maria. She’s something else entirely.

It's like she's on another plane.

Maybe Frank- as he is now, more legend than man- is on that plane with her.

Maybe the old him is back with Maria.

“You're awfully thoughtful,” Karen says. Her voice is warm, and her smile has only grown wider.

Frank swallows. “Got a lot on my mind.”

Karen rolls her eyes. “You've always got a lot on your mind.”

“Part of my charm.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Sitting upright, she folds her arms, a look of reproach warring with her smile. “Hey, Frank?”

She's not playful anymore, and Frank finds himself pinned to the bed with one of her searching looks.

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad I know you.”

That's…

Frank stares up at her, mentally scrambling for something to say to that. A sharp quip about how she shouldn't be, a warning that most people who know him are dead, a denial, anything. But his mind is blank.

He doesn't know how long he spends frozen before she takes pity on him and leans down, her hair brushing his face as she presses a kiss to his cheek.

Closing his eyes, he lets himself breathe in her sweet shampoo and bright perfume, lets them mix with the smell of her sheets.

Some of the people in group talk about aromatherapy- they roll their eyes and snort as they do, but they’ll swear up and down that sometimes, just smelling something that doesn’t belong in a war is good for them. Or it helps chase away the memories of smells. Frank hasn’t tried any of that; he’s not sure sticking a wad of cotton soaked in peppermint up his nose is going to do much for him. But maybe they’re onto something.

Karen gave him a key to her apartment, and there are days Frank has been desperate enough to make the trip out there, curl up under a blanket on her couch, and soak up everything that is Karen. From the papers spread out on the table to the meticulously cleaned dishes to the way the whole apartment smells a little like her, it’s a little like he’s soaking up something good, letting it replace all the shit that’s built up in him.

In the dream, Karen moves a little, stretching forward to press her second kiss to his temple. He can feel the dips in the mattress where her hands are braced by his shoulders.

He closes his eyes.

Her third kiss is to the center of his forehead.

The third is to the space between his brows.

The fourth is the middle of his nose.

Her hair slides against his face as she angles her head lower.

When she speaks, her breath ghosts over his lips.

“You aren't ready yet,” she says. She doesn’t sound angry. She doesn't even sound disappointed. “But you could be one day. Just try not to wait too long, okay? I'm not going to be this young and forgiving forever.”

Frank huffs, the closest thing to a laugh as he can manage. “I'm trying,” he tells her, willing his eyes to open. “This is new for me, you know.”

“And since when does Frank Castle take his time with new things?” Karen asks. She pulls back enough to look down at him, her amusement clear.

“Since it matters,” Frank replies. It comes out as a rasp, the words weak and scraping on the way out, and he wishes immediately that she didn't hear him.

But she did. She always hears him, has heard him since before he knew he was saying anything. She's heard things she shouldn't have, and she's heard things she wishes she hadn't. He knows she has. Some of it- a lot of it- is Frank’s fault.

“Yet I'm still here,” Karen says. She’s a figment of his mind, so it shouldn’t surprise him that she’s followed his thoughts. It’s just that flesh and blood Karen does the same thing. “I'm a very determined person, and even if what you do scares me, you, Frank Castle, do not. You should probably accept that.” She lifts a hand to cup his face, her thumb brushing over his cheek. “I have.”

He should listen to her. Karen hasn't led him astray yet.

“But for now,” she continues, her voice and her expression lifting, “I think you should sleep.”

“I'm already sleeping,” he counters.

She purses her lips, flattening them into a thin line. “Frank?”

He knows what’s coming, but he still asks, “Yeah?”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Smiling to himself, he does as she asks.


End file.
